


Needle and Thread

by Abka_Aten



Series: Starry Night [2]
Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: Aristocracy, Ciel Phantomhive Has a Twin, F/M, Father-Daughter Relationship, Female Ciel Phantomhive, Gen, Genderbending, Nobility, POV Second Person, The Phantomhive's Way, Timeline What Timeline
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-09
Updated: 2018-09-09
Packaged: 2019-07-10 01:02:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15938519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Abka_Aten/pseuds/Abka_Aten
Summary: She was your beloved eldest, the famed Queen's Watch Dog, your unwilling successor, your eclipsed Sun."Ciel, where is your sister?"“Why would you ask me that?"





	Needle and Thread

**Author's Note:**

> Sequel of Lacquered, the timeline is slightly skewed though. This story happened after the mess of Original Ciel Phantomhive.
> 
> Unbeta'ed. English is not my first language.

You looked at her again. Your child, your little girl whose cheeriness had morphed your butterfly mansion into her vulture nest, was sitting in another dreary gown of midnight blue lace with dark grey velvet ribbon accented the collar. Pebble-sized dove grey pearl earrings adorned her ears; their luster had reflected the light from the chandelier. Her velvet cloak which was designed for practicality rather than fashion, was hung in her butler’s shoulder.

A mere chess piece.

She had sneered at Rachel’s admonished look and spoke clearly of her opinion about Sebastian.

For a Phantomhive, it meant that one should discard it when it became useless, yet you need to keep the useful and talented ones at your side.

For Ciel, her butler was literally and figuratively, furniture in her board, her home, one that she trusted to keep herself safe.

In your own crude language, Sebastian was _her_ dog.

No.

No. It should have been Edward. Your would-be son-in-law was the one that would bear this disgusting darkness, Frances should have seen and taught her son about that. Ciel though, the beautiful little fairy who jumped and ran around your garden, who happily played with her sister, should not be, could not be a Phantomhive.

Ciel, your vivacious little girl who enjoyed bright jewelleries that Lau’s brought upon his latest visit to China, who sneaked her sister into the kitchen to “make dessert” together, had been reduced to this bitter little lady.

Ciel, who should be the glittering firefly _Marchioness Midford_ and not as the night moth _Countess Phantomhive._

 

_||_

 

The sole maid in the household, Mey-rin had interrupted the silent war in the study room, saying something about the seamstress had arrived.

 Nina, as always, had worked like whirlwind of a typhoon and excellently weaved a conversation about the newest trends with Rachel. Your daughter, in the other hand, had gone quietly admiring bolts of fabrics that the seamstress had brought by caressing one by one. 

Each of them was in ivory, various dreary grey, dark green, black, navy and midnight blue.

Sebastian, _pardon,_ the dog, once again became a piece of walking furniture as your daughter piled and piled those variants of silks, lace, satin, velvet, jacquard, and wool.

Each of them was in the palest ivory, various shades of cloudy grey, dark green, black, navy and midnight blue.

No sky blue, lavender, periwinkle, or even icy pink and grass green in sight.

In fact, not even red ribbons as accents allowed as the dog’s stated despite both Nina and Rachel’s insistence.

 

* * *

 

It was not your child’s taste and style.

Even her jewelleries were no longer fun pieces she’d adored like before but the classical style that your own mother favoured.

Yet, you hoped that your beloved Ciel had simply honoured her dead sister by copying her, appearance and all that complete classical nonsense.

 

_||_

 

“Ciel, where is your sister?”

Your wife had suddenly asked the forgotten question, no doubt after seeing the way Ciel obsessing over fabrics and jewelleries with adult taste and style this afternoon had reminded her of her youngest.

No guilt had appeared in her beautiful face, for it was her understanding that your youngest would not survive. You just shuddered internally, remembered those ailments that your youngest suffered.

No, no, it would be a disaster in the making if your weak daughter endured, lived or God forbid, forced to become Countess Phantomhive.

There was no way your ancestors would forgive you if the Underground King was softhearted like your other daughter.

It would be an apocalypse that someone who had been taught by Angelina’s way into a true lady became a Queen’s Guard Dog.

Even Ciel would be better.

 

* * *

 

 

The greenhouse was beautiful in the early December. Ciel was, once again in the simple, empire-waist dress with mink lined sleeves that she wore when you and Rachel first arrived.

She looked up from the notes that she needed to review. Her hair shaped into Dutch milkmaid plait with scattered topaz, lapis lazuli and pearls, had framed her moonlight face in a way that a Queen of the Night had looked less lovely.

“Why would you ask me that, Lady Rachel?”

She answered in absent-minded tone, her idle fingers had not stopped caressing the emerald-cut sapphire that adorned her left thumb, yet the dangerous edge had lined those youthful features.   

 

“Wouldn’t it be better if she died?”

 

_||_

 

“Did you know, my Lord? Your old acquaintance reanimated her damaged corpse and dared to add her into his newest collection.”

 

“Lady Rachel, your prized songbird was singing cheerfully that night, though I really did not enjoy it, having her blood and brain matters staining my marble.”

 

_||_

_In a long corridor towards the master bedroom, later that night_

 

“Your performance tonight and that destined day are simply stellar, my Lady.”

“My sister, always laughing and dancing like a songbird, she was just an unknowing angel, wasn’t she Sebastian?”

“Ah, but being a vulture is much better than being a twittering, coddled songbird. After all, the vultures do not hunt, but they seize the resources available to them, a perfect way to symbolize how a lady _should be_. Isn’t it, my Lady?”

"Your praise truly has become better and better, demon."

**Author's Note:**

> Sebastian praised (and mocked) his Mistress that she'd also become more alike to her House crest.


End file.
